PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

.....As he enters through the doorway the memories come back to him. The old door creeks as it is opened. He steps into the room. It is decorated with dust and white sheets. The glass in the window is cracked and broken, thus letting in a breeze that makes the dust-stained curtains dance. In the corner sits an old piano. Just by gazing upon it he can hear it play. Songs from the past return to him.

The old wooden floor creaks as he walks towards the old, dust covered piano. He runs his fingers over the yellow tainted keys. He remembers, and the feeling overwhelms him. His hands twitch, yearning to play. He sits on the old black stool and stares that the piano. He takes a breath and begins to play. He is at peace, playing with the ghostly hands of time. The sweet tune rings throughout the room. As he plays he remembers.

He remembers the sound of his sister’s laughter. He can smell an odor; the sweet odor of his mothers perfume. Tears fall from his eyes as he closes them, still playing that song. That bittersweet song from his past. The song that his mother shall never again play as he and his sister run around giggling with joy. The song that will never again be heard from his fathers ears. The song that will never again he played by his sister’s hands. 

Memories flood the room and as he plays it becomes alive again with the ghosts from his past. His mother’s hands overlapping his, making sure he hits the right keys. His sister sits on the rocking chair with her old ragged doll, curling its hair and smiling the brightest smile. His father sits at the desk with is old pipe, watching and moving his finger as if he were composing. The cat sits curled up in the window, blinking at the setting sun.

Ah, the sun! As it sets the room is filled with an faded orange glow; so lovely. Sadly that orange glow became terrifying, and he feared it. He continues to play and it was that song, the last song his loved ones will ever hear on that fateful night. He can feel a chill go down his spine and the room grows intensely cold. 

All of a sudden the keys seem out of tune and the song is lost.

He wipes his teary eyes and gets up. Out of the corner of his eye he sees something move and his heart about jumped out of his chest. He turns to find the old rocking chair, covered with a white sheet, rocking back and forth. He takes a breath and removes the sheet to find the chair terribly burnt. With that every nerve in his body froze. The sight haunted him. He sits down on the dirt-covered floor and curls up. He is so lost in memory he doesn't even notice the cat grooming itself in the old window. With his finger he writes in the dirt, “I’m sorry”. It was in this very room that the fire started. It was in this very room where he lost all he had. If only he hadn't lit the candle on that night.

Twenty years later the guilt still clings to him. Twenty years later he still has nothing. He has no love, his family gone, his face terribly burnt. Some scars just never heal. Oh what he would give to live that day again. What he would give to make things right. What he would give to go back in time and smother that candle.. He would do anything to sit at that piano again accompanied by his….family; the only people who ever loved him. It took him twenty years to get the strength to come back. The strength to come home.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a match, lights it, and throws it. He laughs as he watches the pale-white sheets catch fire and the room is filled with an hot orange glow. He smiles as the flames rise. He stands up and brushes the dust from his pants and slowly walks over to the piano. 

Again he sits at the stool. With one last look at the flames he begins to play. The piano is out of tune but it sounds so perfect in his mind. As he plays the flames get closer and the room gets hotter. He doesn't even cough in the now smoke filled room.

At last when the flames meet his flesh, he feels nothing. He continues to play. He waits. He waits for that final moment. The moment when he is reunited with his loved ones. He burns. He’s been burning for years. He can feel his last breath rise within him now. He can numbly feel his flesh boil and melt off his bones. 

Finally he can, once again, be in the presence of his precious family. His ashes will rest with his loved ones ashes. Again he is loved.

© Rachel Aleta Livingston